


Forests and Fae

by CozyCryptidCorner



Category: Original Work, exophilia - Fandom
Genre: Exophilia, F/M, Fae Boyfriend, Female Reader, Fingering, Loss of Virginity, Masterbation, Monster Boyfriend, Oral Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-06
Updated: 2018-12-06
Packaged: 2019-09-13 01:23:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,980
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16882950
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CozyCryptidCorner/pseuds/CozyCryptidCorner
Summary: Excerpt:No words are forming in your throat. He takes your hand that drips with blood and brings it to his lips, placing the two cut fingers into his mouth and gently sucking. Those golden eyes stare into you like he has known you all your life, as though he can read you like an open book. You are frozen stiff, unsure of what to do.He releases your fingers from his mouth, his tongue and sharpened canines dragging along the tender flesh. You take your hand back, holding it tightly around the wrist, looking over the wound. There is nothing, only a slash of pink skin to suggest anything was there to begin with. Before you can thank him, he gently spins you around and merely says, “let’s get you home, then.”





	Forests and Fae

You are sixteen when you first see him. There are flowers in your hair, petals flying off when you spin around quickly to watch your new skirt bubble up. When you spot him, he is standing beyond the clearing, in between trees. The festivities around you seem to fade out as you look at him, his face as clearly immaculate as the moon and stars.

 

Throughout the night, you continuously sneak glances towards him. He watches the dancing with a wistful expression, as though he is itching to partake as well. Before you can muster the courage to ask him to join you, his eyes meet yours, and he looks at you,  _truly_  looks as though seeing straight into your soul. His eyes are golden, shining in the of the flickering bonfire, and you feel almost trapped beneath their gaze.

 

And then he is gone.

 

You see him again on the day of your eighteenth birthday. There is no large celebration, for your family is poor, but it does not matter to you. For presents, there is a honey cake which you share with your sister, as well as a new pair of shoes since your old ones are well worn out. After dinner, you go out for a walk alone, to collect your thoughts about growing older.

 

As you get closer to your family’s garden, you spot a splotch of color among the dead twigs. Nestled between thorns is one of the biggest, most beautiful roses you have ever seen in your life. Bright yellow, the edges fading into a sunset orange, rows upon rows of petals layered in its center. You stare at it in awe, having no idea where it could have possibly come from since the bush it sits in has not yielded a flower in years.

 

Then you feel a presence. Instincts from a darker time bubble to the surface of your mind, from when humanity was nothing more than prey to a stronger predator, long before the discovery of fire. You are told to freeze, to hide, for there is not the safety of a crowd to lay witness and fight.

 

Ignoring all of the anxiety in your mind, you slowly turn to face the creature. In the darkness of night, his white skin almost shimmers with the stars, glittering and flawless in comparison to your own. You almost feel ashamed of your humanity then, flawed and covered in scars and blemishes you have collected over the years.

 

The fae leaves, walking back into the forest. Far beyond the trees, you can hear the sounds of a celebration echoing through the air, whooping and singing unlike you have ever heard before. Everything seems to beg you to stay, and so this time you listen to your instinct, only standing on the doorstep of your house. Lights flicker beyond, unearthly in origin and sparkling with promises of danger and adventure.

 

After that, during every birthday that follows, the same rose is in full bloom for a full day. It withers away to nothing but dust the very next morning, as though weeks of rot pass through in just a few hours. Your father, the dense man he is, scratches his head in wonder at the flower every time it pops up. Your mother is a little more knowledgeable towards those that cannot be seen, and she has her own suspicions of the blossom’s purpose.

 

Nothing really comes from it, however. You are drilled in all the fae lore,  _eat not their food, give not thy name, offer nothing but kindness, accept nothing but smiles_  and the likes. You are a dutiful daughter, of course, and recite them from memory whenever your mother demands. It is not as though she does this to torture you, she does this out of concern for your well being. You tolerate her constant worry, wear the charms she makes for you, and help burn sage throughout the house once a week.

 

That does not mean that you allow her to wrangle out your insatiable curiosity. You especially love looking for wild mushrooms and herbs in the forest, and though it pains your mother to send you out, you  _are_  the best in the family to find such things. To be with the wild, to be in the unforgiving belly of nature is where you feel most at peace with yourself.

 

Your mother always fusses with you before you go out, and today is no different. She checks over your charms to make sure they are all there, runs her fingers over the runes of your iron bracelet, and rubs a talisman with oil on your forehead, whispering a blessing. “Go on now,” she sighs, placing a hand over her forehead, “be back before sundown, you hear?”

 

As always, you are quick to agree to those terms and start off into the woods. It rained all last night, the smells of freshness and trees are almost overwhelmingly sweet. A thin layer of mist is slowly dissipating back into the ground, swirling against your ankles and wisping against the grass. Your basket is empty, so you have no qualms about twirling it about as you follow the trail deeper into the trees.

 

Something about the atmosphere changes. You cannot pinpoint the exact moment where everything seemed different, it was more like subtle changes in your surroundings that you paid no heed to until it became too much to ignore. The leaves are too vibrantly green, so much so that it hurts your eyes to look at them, the smells of the forest are too sharp, stinging your nose. As you start breathing through your mouth, you notice that even the crickets sound different.

 

The forest you grew up in is suddenly a foreign entity, one that no longer nourishes your family with its mushrooms and berries, but one that would drag you down into the earth to rot and feed the roots of the trees. It is not evil specifically, but something beyond morals.

 

Music hits your ears, loud and harmonious with a steady drumbeat that echoes through your bones. The many lessons from your mother inform your that you must have stumbled upon a Faerie Ring. You must not take another step forward, for the Fae might see fit to whisk you away and make you a slave to their whims.

 

You begin tracing your path back the way you came, breaking off a dead branch of a tree and sticking it into the ground to create a marker. Even though you begin walking, the music does not fade away. In fact, after what feels like only a few minutes, you come back to your marker. Shaking with fear now, you pick a different direction and begin to walk, just to have the same thing happen again. You choose another route. And another. Until all possible paths have been taken except the one direction towards the music.

 

If there is one thing you are not, it’s stupid. There is a third option, which requires you to sit down and hope the party passes on away from you. The moss is soft against your aching legs as you settle down against a tree, pulling your knees up to your chin and closing your eyes. You finger your iron bracelet and begin whispering a prayer to any friendly forest spirits who might listen.

 

Jittering interrupts your whispers. Something about the sly snickering that rapidly approaches you is so fundamentally evil all the hairs on your arms stand on end. You hold your breath and face downwards in your lap, staying still and silent in the hopes that you will be ignored.

 

Your hopes prove to be in vain as something grips your arm, the one without the iron bracelet, nails thick and sharp enough to be talons digging into your skin. Knowing that you are all but well and truly fucked, you open your eyes and try to see if you can talk your way out of this mess.

 

Two creatures stand before you, the likes of which you have never seen before. One looks like the skin had been ripped away from its body, the muscles and sinew all replaced with tree vines and fibers. The second is covered in head to toe in rusty brown feathers, eyes the color of dusty clay. The smile both give you is grotesque, for you are not naive and know the dangers a lone maiden faces among the Fae.

 

One of them gropes for your breast, and you are quick to return the favor by a hard kick to the shin. Obviously angered now, one of them throws you to the ground, nails scraping against your skin. You feel something wet run down your palm, and see a cut across your fingers. They chatter in a language that sounds oddly like bird calls, glaring down at you and gearing up to do something much worse.

 

Though your tailbone hurts from the fall, you try backing up from them rapidly. Your elbow bumps into a shiny black shoe, the owner of which you do not have time to look at because strong arms are pulling you back up to your feet. “There you are, my dear. Have I not advised you against wandering?” Your rescuer’s voice is ethereal, as though it should not be allowed to be spoken in this mortal realm. Husky and low, with a soothing property that puts your entire body at ease.

 

The other two Fae look at each other questioningly, as though unsure of how to proceed with this new development. One of them makes a hesitant offer in its chittering tone, pointing at your chest. The other chimes in, but both are quickly interrupted.

 

“I appreciate your efforts in finding her.” Long, pale fingers brush at your shoulder, flicking some dirt away. You dare not move, dare not offend whoever has you in his grasp. His voice suddenly hardens, sending shivers down your spine. “ _Now leave._ ”

 

They scatter, retreating back towards the pagan music. You do not relax, however, because anything that those creatures fear should surely scare you as well. When the hands release you from their protective grip, you turn around to face him and nearly choke. It is  _him_ , your Fae. Golden eyes that pierced your very soul all those years ago. Long white hair, two small braids woven on either side of his head and tied off with obsidian beads. He is a little less tall than you remember though you still have to tilt your chin up to look at him. Twin horns, black as night, sprout from his hair, curling around and pointing behind him.

 

No words are forming in your throat. He takes your hand that drips with blood and brings it to his lips, placing the two cut fingers into his mouth and gently sucking. Those golden eyes stare into you like he has known you all your life, as though he can read you like an open book. You are frozen stiff, unsure of what to do.

 

He releases your fingers from his mouth, his tongue and sharpened canines dragging along the tender flesh. You take your hand back, holding it tightly around the wrist, looking over the wound. There is nothing, only a slash of pink skin to suggest anything was there to begin with. Before you can thank him, he gently spins you around and merely says, “let’s get you home, then.”

 

The walk back with your Fae was much more productive than when you tried walking back on your own. The forest changes back slowly as he leads you back to the mortal realm, holding one of his hands with both of yours for dear life. Slowly, you begin to recognize your surroundings as the veil of the immortals fades out from existence. His grip on you is tight until you reach the clearing of your home, the sun already beginning to sink beyond the hills.

 

“Here is where I leave you, little one.” He releases you once you are out away from the trees.

 

Coming back to your senses, you remember that thanking a Fae would mean you owe them a favor. And you are not  _that_  familiar with him. You echo his words to the other creatures instead. “I appreciate you bringing me back. Truly.”

 

The corners of his mouth turn up into a little smile. “Think nothing of it. Do try to stay away from the Fae rings, girl. Dangers like you could never imagine lurk there.”

 

“Of course.” You nod at him, then pause. “What may I call you, if you do not mind telling me?”

“You may call me Ciarán. And you?”

 

You give him one of your nicknames in return. “Will I ever see you again?” You ask, feeling a bit foolish doing so.

 

He offers one nod of his head, before turning back and fading into the forest.

 

Your mother is near frantic when you walk into the house. Usually, you are back long before twilight with a basket full of food and a hair full of flowers. As soon as you step into the threshold, with dirt hugging the hems of your dress with twigs in your hair and the basket missing, she knows. There is no hiding anything from the woman, and so you tell her what happened, minus the last conversation with Ciarán.

 

With your father, you told him a more watered-down version he would believe; that two men had tried taking advantage of you, but you had managed to escape. He went into such a rage that your mother could not calm him, raving about how the foreign hunters have been pushing their luck in  _his_  forest and it is high time for them to learn a thing or two about respect for another man’s land.

 

Then he leaves to go to the tavern, to spread the word of danger. Your mother reassures you that there is no harm in that since the only precautions people will take are to avoid going into the forest. “If there are fae wandering through the trees, then the caution will still bring people safety, love.” She is gently brushing the twigs and dirt out of your hair.

 

Of course, you are no longer allowed to go back into the forest. In fact, no girl in fifty miles is permitted in the forest alone once your father finishes warning your neighbors. Both you and your sister fall under much more scrutiny by your worried parents, allowed to forage just at the very base of the treeline, and only together. There is not a lot to be found there, but you do your duty and let your parents fawn and fret.

 

The night of the summer solstice is when you see him again. There are no flowers in your hair this time. He stands where he did when you first saw him, just beyond the clearing into the trees. You retrieve a cup of apple cider and slowly weave your way to join him, slinking back into the darkness so you would not be seen.

 

“Ciarán.” You whisper the name he offered before you approached, holding out the cup as an offering of sorts.

 

His horns are melting into the background, blending in with the darkness of the sky and the shadows of the trees. When he turns to you, something deep within your belly sparks with an unknown warmth that feels strangely pleasant.

 

“I would not like the taste.” Ciarán waves his hand at your offer. “Best if you enjoy it for me.”

 

You take a sip of it, letting the almost tart bubbles wash down your tongue. “Why do you watch?”

 

“Because I cannot partake.”

 

“Why don’t you?”

 

He gives you an odd look. “Would you like for a strange man to wedge himself into a hard-earned festivity?” His gaze returns to the circle of dancers. “I enjoy seeing them happy. Happiness, I think, has to be earned in between bitterness. Without sadness, how do you know bliss?”

 

“Do the fae not know happiness?” You ask, hating to see such a forlorn look on his face. The lightness in your head suggests you should kiss his melancholy away.

 

“Not the way humans feel it.” Ciarán turns back to you, a small smile lighting up his face. “I do not often come to celebrations, but I knew you would be here.”

 

Your breath hitches. “You… wished to see me?”

 

“Careful with your choice of words, sweet girl. Not wished…  _wanted_.” The reprimand does not sting when his hand is sliding up to yours, your fingers intertwining together.

 

“Why?”

 

“I do not know. Something about you draws me close. Your fearlessness, perhaps, from when you first saw me.” Ciarán tucks a stray piece of hair behind your ear. “I do not suppose you would like to come away from the crowds and talk?”

 

You blush, looking downwards to the ground before smiling. “I would if you don’t mind my company.”

 

The two of you talked for hours, until long after the bonfire was nothing more than a smoldering pile of ash and the first light of dawn began to swallow the stars. You sit on a fallen log, answering all his questions about your family, about your sister, father, and mother. You tell him about the farm animals, about the mean old tomcat who will scratch at you more than he ever purred.

 

And Ciarán listens, rapt with your simple stories as though you were feeding him tales from afar. He laps up your words without interruptions unless he wants something elaborated. You absolutely adore the attention he pays to you.

 

When it is time for you to leave, he bows slightly and kisses your hand. “I will see you again,” he promises firmly, then fades into the trees.

 

Your mother begins to loosen her grip around your collar. There have not been any mysterious disappearances, and your debacle with the Fae is the only one reported among the women. Slowly, she allows you the same freedoms she used to before. While you forage in the woods, you often find Ciarán waiting for your company.

 

The two of you talk about everything and anything, sometimes working in silence and simply enjoying one another’s company. You teach Ciarán which mushrooms to pick, which berries are good to eat and which can kill a man before he swallows. Even with Ciarán’s clumsy help, you began filling the basket even faster than if you were by yourself. It left plenty of time for you to do… other things.

 

It begins when you get the nerve to pop up on your tiptoes to kiss him goodbye on the cheek. Nothing too much, but his eyes light up at the contact. “Would you care to do it again?” He asks, his mouth quivering. You oblige him, almost embarrassed, giving him a peck on the other cheek before racing off back to your house. Your mouth burns, and you wonder why you allowed yourself to do that.

 

The next time you meet, Ciarán asks if he can kiss  _you_  on the cheek instead of a greeting. Face flushing with red, you agree to it. His mouth is warm, leaving a white-hot mark where he places it, the area of your skin right next to your mouth.

 

You are afraid of how much you enjoy the contact. When the basket is full of mushrooms and nuts, Ciarán hands you a small bud. “Bellheather. It keeps the smaller pixies away,” he says in explanation.

 

“How do you know?” You ask, accepting the little magenta flower.

 

“I am one of the forest spirits. I know almost everything that grows here.” Ciarán sees your face growing pink, and asks, “what is the matter?”

 

“I have been going on and on about all the different herbs and plants… don’t tell me you knew everything I was saying already?” Embarrassment tingles through your face and ears, a little punch of anxiety hits you in the stomach. Surely he must think of you as a foolish girl, chittering her head off all day.

 

“Oh, I just enjoy hearing you talk. I did not want to stop you.” Ciarán explains, placing one of his hands over your own. “Certainly that is no insult?”

 

You feel a little dizzy from his proclamation - _he_ enjoys _hearing you talk_ \- and instead look at the bud sat sits in the palm of your hand. “No insult, no.” Shaking your head, you put the little flower into one of your pockets.

 

He says your name, softly. “Would you allow me to kiss you again?”

 

“Would you like to kiss me again?” You ask in response.

 

“I would indeed.” Ciarán’s hands come to rest on either side of your face, gently tilting your head up. Then, giving you plenty of time to wriggle away if you wanted to, he presses his mouth against yours. Everything is fuzzy, and the forest bleeds away as there is only you and your Fae in a sweet embrace.

 

The next time you are together, it escalates from simple. Ciarán shows you how to kiss in such a manner that makes your heart race even more, a foreign feeling of heat pooling between your thighs. You lay beneath him as he kisses and uses his tongue to explore your mouth, you had no idea that they could be used for such a thing. He then kisses your jaw, your nose, your cheeks, and settles on your neck.

 

When he kisses your neck, he takes his time as though there is something spectacularly holy about it. His lips press up against your jugular, his teeth grazing your soft skin. He tugs the fabric of your dress away and sucks, leaving a bright red mark. The kisses are given freely, spoiling you with adoration and heating your core in such a way you feel frazzled after each time.

 

After one particularly heating kiss, you ask Ciarán if he feels as hot as you do.

 

“Hot?” He asks. “Where?”

 

You feel a little sheepish. “In my um… Stomach.”

 

His golden eyes turn mischievous. You have a feeling he knew  _exactly_  what you are speaking of. “Is it here?” One of his hands starts wandering down to your lower abdomen, and he presses down just above where your legs split.

 

A spark of pleasure runs through you at the contact, though it does almost nothing to relieve your ache.  _Lower_ , you do not say, for you are shy and unsure of yourself. Ciarán understands, pressing a kiss against your neck. “If you let me, I can help with that.”

 

“H-how?” You have heard how  _it_  works, of course. From too-tired women and blushing girls, all with stories that seem to contradict each other except for one factor. Each has the same exact beginning: it will hurt at first. Some worse than others.

 

Curiosity on how he plans on easing the pain between your legs grows, and you wait with bated breath to see how he will react. “I’ll touch you.” His hands fumble in your skirts, burying itself underneath the layers.

 

“Just touching?” You whisper, sure this would go in a very different direction.

 

“If that is what you want.” Ciarán kisses you again, hot fervor taking ahold of your body. His hand finds the soft lips between your legs and begins to run them up and down. You did not realize how slick you are, his finger smoothly moving over the puckered skin.

 

You whimper as his thumb finds a bud and begins to circle around it, your back arching without your mind’s permission.

 

“Tell me what you like.” Ciarán nips at your lower lip, pulling it forward with his teeth.

 

“I don’t know.” Shame that you are not acquainted with your body makes your face burn once more.

 

“That’s fair, my sweet girl.” Ciarán will have none of your self-loathing today. “Allow me to try some things, then. If you don’t like them, say something. I’ll stop.”

 

You already feel pinpricks of pleasure running up and down your spine as he rubs against your mound. Ciarán’s other hand touch your clothed breasts, pinching and kneading them through your dress. When he kisses your neck, your hips jolt up, as though searching for more of him. His breath tickles your bare skin as he moves up to your ear to lick and nibble on your lobe.

 

Your insides wind up tighter and tighter, and suddenly, you move beyond an edge you had not known existed. Something releases inside, springing like a coil and causing your entire body to tremble. Everything squeezes together, then expands, over and over again while your muscles shiver and shake. You let out a little whimper, trying your best to keep quiet as Ciarán strokes your bud to keep you keening.

 

Once you settle down, you turn to Ciarán, positively breathless. “That was not it… was it?” You feel foolish to ask, but you must make sure. Your parents cannot afford a bastard babe on your behalf.

 

“Of course not. There is still so much more I can do.” Ciarán leans over and kisses you breathless. “But twilight is nigh, and I would hate for you to be punished for tardiness.”

 

Ciarán’s strong arms help you back to your wobbling feet. You walk with him, arm in arm, back to the path that will take you home. Everything feels… lighter, you would say. Your head feels bubbly, almost like you have had too much wine but without the heaviness that follows. Ciarán kisses you goodbye, impossibly chaste so soon after making you so undone.

 

The next time you meet with him, he asks you if you would care to remove your dress. You, of course, are almost scandalized. “What if someone sees?” You lower your voice, as though the mere suggestion would summon a priest.

 

Ciarán does not laugh at your worries, only reassures you. “I will charm our surroundings. Anyone who wanders too close will be struck with a sudden desire to walk back to their homes.”

 

Then you pout, confident he will be like all boys and expect the girl to be the pretty eye candy for their consumption. “Why do I have to be the naked one?”

 

“Would you like me to be naked, too?” Ciarán responds, arching his eyebrows suggestively. “I would not mind, sweet one. I just did not think you would be ready for it.”

 

That sounded like a challenge, and you are not one to walk away from those. “You go first, then.”

 

Ciarán steps away from you, removing his jacket and placing it on the ground. His hands move almost painfully slowly up to the collar of his shirt, slowly undoing the laces of his neckline. When his shirt is removed, your breathing hitches and warmth floods in between your thighs. You have seen men bare-chested before, yes, but you have not seen  _Ciarán_  bare-chested.

 

His skin is almost white, with gray undertones. You see blue vessels that carry his blood just beneath the surface. Ciarán is toned around his belly, the skin tight with muscles but not as puffed up as many of the field workers you have seen. There is a trail of pale gray hairs that leads down into his trousers, down to a bulge that you swear is growing.

 

“You see something you like?” Ciarán teases you, holding his arms out to give you a better look. All you can make in response is a tiny squeak.

 

Then his belt comes off. His boots follow. He places his thumbs in his waistband and looks you in the eye as he pulls his breeches down, tantalizingly slow. His cock springs free and you have to look away for a moment to collect yourself, certain your face is bright pink. You manage to fix your eyes back at him, only looking at his face.

 

Ciarán stands before you, naked as the day he was born. He holds his hands out to you in an invitation for an embrace. Haltingly, you take a step towards him, and then another. When he takes you in his arms, it feels different. Open. Bare. You struggle to find a proper place to put your hands, settling on his hips. You feel a tad bit shameful, yes, but the heat is making it awfully hard to think straight.

 

“It’s alright if you want to touch me.” Ciarán offers, placing his hands over yours and tenderly moves them downwards until they rest right over his buttocks. Your chest feels ready to explode, your heart hammering so hard it might beat its way out of your chest.

 

Around his middle, something hard presses into your skirts. You know what it is but have not seen an aroused male up close before. The girth feels thick, though you have no experience to compare it to. Nervousness taps through your stomach, hoping he will not expect you to take him today. You do not wish to experience the pain other women promise.

 

“You are scared,” Ciarán observes, retaking your hands and squeezing them tightly. “You have no need to be.”

 

“What if-” your breath quickens, “what if I don’t want this?”

 

“Then I will stop,” Ciarán says as though it is the most obvious thing in the whole wide world.

 

“You would not try to force me?” You ask, remember tales of wives who do not have a choice in how their husbands take them.

 

“Never.” He sounds aghast at even the suggestion. “There is no reason for you to fear me, sweet one.”

 

“Alright.” You step from his embrace and begin working to undress. “I will need help with the laces.”

 

“I will gladly be of assistance.” Ciarán steps behind you, pressing a kiss on the back of your neck. He helps you pull your smock over your head, then unbuttons a small loop on your dress. You feel utterly naked just in your underthings, under the scrutiny of someone else. Each tie of your underclothes is gently pulled free by his hand, and suddenly before you can blink, you wear nothing.

 

The air is cold against your skin, the hairs of your body standing on end. Your nipples pebble up, suddenly hard from both chill and arousal, and you hide them with your arms.

 

“Look at you,” Ciarán whispers, “you’re beautiful.”

 

You blush hard, feeling heat rising to your cheeks. “I’m nothing special.” Scars and stretch marks and unhealed bruises mark your skin, all from the hard life you live. In comparison to Ciarán who is entirely without blemishes, you feel almost dirty.

 

“These tell a story.” His fingers trace one of your scars. “Each of them is unique.” Ciarán bends down to kiss you, every cell within your body almost too aware that the two of you are naked. His skin presses up against yours, smooth as silk and warm.

 

“Those things I mentioned yesterday,” Ciarán says as he lowers you to the ground, “I will do them now.”

 

You lay down against your carefully spread out dress. Ciarán kisses each knee before parting your thighs, looking over your quivering sex. You say nothing, reminding yourself that he will do nothing to hurt you. Truly, you wish to see where he takes this.

 

Instead of ramming his cock into you, he bends over and licks the little bud he had rubbed so enthusiastically before. You almost shriek with surprise, a jolt of pleasure running through your body. There are so many questions running through your mind, but all of them vanish as he licks again, his tongue slightly rough, almost like a cat’s but without the dryness.

 

Ciarán licks at your wet slit eagerly, his golden eyes sparkling as they meet yours.  _He is enjoying this_ , you realize, near fainting with the pleasure his tongue brings your body. You feel your body get tight again, just like when Ciarán touched you all over with his fingers. Choked gasps escape your lungs, you near forget to breath when he pulls back to pepper your inner thighs with kisses and nips. His teeth feel exquisite against your swollen skin, not quite painful but flirting with that notion.

 

Your back arches and a soft cry is drawn from your lips as he takes the bud in your mouth and  _sucks_. Ciarán withdraws and laughs at your reaction, not cruelly, but proud that he could pull a sound from your lips. He kisses the skin just below your belly button before dragging his tongue all the way back to your sex and resuming his feast. His arms wrap around your legs, keeping you from wriggling too much.

 

Sweat begins to bleed from your skin, too hot and too cold at the same time. You cry out, your voice not forming words, but emotions. Everything coils too tight, then suddenly springs free. Your body rocks, hips bucking towards his mouth as you are driven positively mad. There are no thoughts in your mind, only bliss.

 

When you manage to clear your head of mist and clouds, you sit up to watch Ciarán fold his hand around his cock and pump it up and down. “I hope you don’t mind me-  _ah,_ ” he gasps, his hips bucking into his hand. “It is awfully uncomfortable to work with.” The top weeps a clear liquid, which Ciarán rubs over with his hand and back around his length.

 

Ciarán seems to enjoy your eyes on him, every time he looks up at you he makes a little gasp, his pelvis thrusting on its own. You watch, fascinated, as thick ribbons of white shoot out of the head and onto the leaves. Once spent, his cock shrinks in size, the head pulling back into the skin.

 

He pulls you close to him, laying down right next to you. The two of you kiss lazily, mouths still hot with want and need. When you are even exhausted from that, he holds you, tightly in his arms. Before you can drift off to sleep, Ciarán says, “your mother is probably wondering what is taking you so long.”

 

You do not care, but Ciarán does. “You would not be able to visit me if you were to get in trouble.” He laces up your corset, his fingers nimble with the string. “That would make me very sad.”

 

Before you leave, he pulls a knife from his belt. The blade is plain, the hilt decorated in runes so fine you have to squint to read them. “The blade is iron,” Ciarán explains, “the hilt is silver. If anyone ever tries taking advantage of you, do not show them a shred of mercy.”

 

“And if that person is you?” You ask, trying to make a joke.

 

Ciarán takes it very seriously. “Then kill me, for I do not deserve to live after breaking your trust.”

 

You swallow thickly. “I thank- I mean, appreciate this, truly, but I do not know how to wield weapons. And it looks expensive, so I do not think you should be giving it to me.”

 

“I will teach you.” Ciarán folds your hands over the hilt. “Do not reject my gift, I beg of you.”

 

“I accept it.” You put the knife in one of your pockets. “And I appreciate your thoughts of me.”

 

He smiles, his entire face lighting up. You wish you could catch this moment, bottle it, keep it for all eternity. When you kiss him to show your thanks, your mouth moving against his with a new kind of confidence.

 

You are loathed to leave, but you must. Ciarán walks you back to the paths, and you are certain to give him another kiss before you go.

 

“I will see you next time.” You promise.

 

“Next time.” Ciarán agrees, giving your forehead one last kiss before you go.

**Author's Note:**

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